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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26082223">your fingers entwined with mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunimi/pseuds/kunimi'>kunimi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>rituals between the seams [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Holding Hands, Introspection, M/M, everything comes back to sakusa kiyoomi. osamu wishes he knew when it began., kind of - it's more osamu thinking endlessly about sakusa, maybe it's always been this way., maybe osamu is as fixated on omi's hands as vice versa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:08:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26082223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunimi/pseuds/kunimi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This Sakusa feels like the first time Osamu made him laugh, a low chuckle that ricocheted through Osamu’s ribcage and slammed right into his heart; this Sakusa feels like a thumb ghosting over his wrist, so lightly he thought he imagined it for a moment, and the deep flush of Sakusa’s cheeks as he washed his hands; this Sakusa feels like a night sky exploding with colour and possibility, and Osamu standing in its aftermath, left only with hands made for shaping onigiri, not catching stars.</p><p><i>You’re so fucking hopeless</i>, Suna’s voice swims in his head, and Osamu blinks, because he knows, he knows.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>rituals between the seams [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>🐶🍙 omigiri fanfic collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>your fingers entwined with mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a cleaned up version of a warm up drabble i posted on twitter the day before the last omigiri fic! thank you arae for telling me to post it lmao —also brittany pointed out that it kinda works in conjunction with the mirror fic one and i yelled a lot so. big thank you to brittany for breaking my mind this morning ahaha. stan omigiri!</p><p>anyway this whole thing was written bc of the folklore bot's tweet that came up on my feed: <i>to kiss in cars and downtown bars was all we needed</i></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Osamu is drunk.</p><p>Osamu is drunk, the night air is cool on his skin, and Sakusa Kiyoomi moves like a wound in motion, sharp and deft against the living tissue of the universe, of Osamu’s soft heart.</p><p>It’s not a crowded bar, but it’s still difficult to make sense of Sakusa’s existence within it; but there he sits, across the room from Osamu, raising an eyebrow over his mask at Hinata. There’s warmth in his eyes as he does, a fondness that seems reserved for Hinata Shouyou and Ushijima Wakatoshi, and something about it aches in Osamu’s chest.</p><p>He takes a long swig of whatever awful drink Atsumu bought him, then leans back towards the open window, letting the night air settle on his skin, an anchor in the sea of Sakusa’s eyes.</p><p>“You’re so fucking hopeless,” Suna says, snorting, and Osamu drags his eyes over to where Suna stands, Atsumu’s chin tucked over his shoulder. It’s a little easier to breathe, not looking directly at Sakusa right now, but there’s an itch in his palms, his ribs, his chest. Something that says there’s something missing.</p><p>“Shut up,” Osamu says, no heat, because there’s amber warmth running through his body now, liquid lightning in his veins, but more than that, part of him thinks that maybe Suna’s right. He’s never been particularly prone to dramatics, not the way Atsumu is, but sometimes Sakusa looks at him and it feels like he’s paying him as much attention as he gives anything that matters. Sakusa Kiyoomi has never done anything halfway, not as long as Osamu’s known him, and there’s something intoxicating about being looked at like that.</p><p>Sakusa Kiyoomi looks at him, and sometimes Osamu feels like he’s coming undone.</p><p>“It’s so fuckin’ weird,” Atsumu grumbles, but he only scrunches up his nose a little bit, so Osamu snorts.</p><p>“Yer just mad ‘cuz we have the same face,” Osamu says lightly, a grin spreading over his lips as Atsumu squawks, sputters, swears. “Proves the only thing wrong with ya was yer personality.”</p><p>“It is a major flaw,” Suna muses. Atsumu reaches up to mess up his hair—a classic punishment from a tipsy Atsumu, who has always used his words like blunt force trauma, but has never been any match for Suna in sharp wickedness—and Suna twists himself out from Atsumu’s grip, as easy as breathing, like it's a dance they were born to do together.</p><p>Osamu looks down at his itching palms, at the space between his fingers, and wonders whether Sakusa’s would fit there.</p><p>“Let’s go find Kita-san,” Suna says, pausing in his oddly mesmerising dodges of Atsumu’s hands, capturing them instead. “He’s excellent at reminding you of all your failings.”</p><p>Osamu raises an eyebrow as Suna hauls Atsumu up, ignoring Atsumu's half-hearted mutters about how he has no personality flaws, but all the answer he gets before they disappear from his side is a quirk at the edge of Suna’s lips, and a slight inclination of his head.</p><p>“Osamu-san.”</p><p>It rolls through him like storm clouds in a wintry sky, like waves crashing on a beach. Like their hips might, dancing, if they were anyone else, anywhere else.</p><p>“You don’t hafta call me ‘san’, ya know,” Osamu says, because he’s afraid if he doesn’t, he might say something else. Like <em> do you want to get out of here?</em>, or <em> your eyes made me so dizzy I needed to get fresh air</em>, or even <em> I think your fingers might fit with mine</em>.</p><p>Sakusa’s mouth is covered by his mask, but his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, and there’s a twitch to his cheek, and Osamu knows exactly what that smile looks like. It’s small and careful, a quiet slip of a thing, easy to miss if you don’t already have it memorised, if your eyes aren't already primed to seek it out. Osamu wants to look at it forever.</p><p>“Did Suna-san leave?” Sakusa asks. It amuses Osamu to no end how Sakusa has managed to never say Atsumu’s name, referring to him only as Miya if necessary, but he hides his smile, nodding instead. “I see,” Sakusa says. A beat, two, three, then: “Are you enjoying your night?”</p><p>Osamu huffs a laugh. “More now yer here,” he drawls, and it sounds like a line, but it almost hurts from how true it is. It’s like he’s been on the edge of a precipice all night, and now that Sakusa is in front of him, looking at him like there’s nothing else he wants to see, there’s something holding him by the wrist, making sure he doesn’t let go.</p><p>It’s not steady ground, exactly, because Sakusa doesn’t feel safe in the dim lights of the bar; that’s reserved for the Sakusa who sits in the back of Onigiri Miya and watches quietly as Osamu works diligently, for the Sakusa who crinkles his eyes when he sees Osamu walk in to the gym after practice, for the Sakusa who rolls his eyes at Atsumu and makes dry comments to match Osamu’s own.</p><p>This Sakusa feels like the first time Osamu made him laugh, a low chuckle that ricocheted through Osamu’s ribcage and slammed right into his heart; this Sakusa feels like a thumb ghosting over his wrist, so lightly he thought he imagined it for a moment, and the deep flush of Sakusa’s cheeks as he washed his hands; this Sakusa feels like a night sky exploding with colour and possibility, and Osamu standing in its aftermath, left only with hands made for shaping onigiri, not catching stars.</p><p><em> You’re so fucking hopeless</em>, Suna’s voice swims in his head, and Osamu blinks, because he knows, he knows.</p><p>Sakusa flicks an unimpressed glance at him, but he doesn’t seem mad. Osamu wonders if it’s because he knows how much Osamu really means it. He hopes not. He’s scared of wanting too much.</p><p>“I won’t say the same,” Sakusa says. It’s okay. Osamu never expected him to.</p><p>Sakusa’s hand twitches towards his, though, and Osamu’s breath hitches in his throat. Unlike Atsumu, he can do things casually, so he gently lays his hand out, flipped so it’s palm up, and holds his breath.</p><p>A beat, two, three, then: Sakusa slips his fingers into Osamu’s, and Osamu exhales.</p><p><em> They fit</em>, he thinks wildly, his heart beating madly, and he can’t help the bright grin he sends Sakusa, who immediately ducks his head.</p><p>“Can I kiss your cheek?” Osamu asks suddenly, brazenly, on fire from the feeling of their hands entwined, from the way Sakusa’s eyes have followed him all night. Sakusa, who has never done anything halfway.</p><p>The silence stretches out for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a minute, before Sakusa nods. It’s a small thing, sharp and precise, but it’s there, and Osamu leans over and gently presses his lips against Sakusa’s cheek, that tiny expanse of skin framed by the strings of his mask. His own face feels warm, his heart burning something ferocious, and Sakusa lets out a sigh.</p><p>He gently tugs on Osamu’s hand. “I don’t want to stay,” he says clearly, and Osamu nods, abandoning his drink without a second thought. Sakusa leads, and Osamu follows. He’s not sure if it would even matter where they were going. Osamu is drunk, and Sakusa Kiyoomi is always beautiful, but especially right now, leading him out into the moonlight and cool night air, and Osamu has no idea how to quit him.</p><p>(When they end up in the back of one of the Black Jackals’ team cars, Sakusa entering first, pulling Osamu behind him, it takes approximately 37 seconds for Osamu to put on his seatbelt.</p><p>It takes Sakusa approximately 38 seconds to remove his mask and press his lips against Osamu’s, a quivering kiss anchored with long fingers against Osamu’s cheeks and jawline, something desperate in the cadence of his breathing, like maybe he’s wanted this as much as Osamu.</p><p>Osamu blinks, breathes, burns.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if anyone saw this on twitter originally, you might have noticed a bit of clean up, but especially the bit with osamu kissing the sliver of sakusa's cheek—i just wanted to say thank you to kuro for writing something that made me think more about that (the original scene, before thinking about it, had osamu kissing the mask rather than his cheek) and then talking out some of my thoughts and questions with me earlier this evening!! love you &lt;3</p><p>also i went back and forth on the car thing for an unreasonably long time lmao &amp; decided that i believe they can both drive but osamu's drunk and sakusa's feeling a bit h word so neither are going to drive right now &lt;3 safety first</p><p>fic post on twt can be found <a href="https://twitter.com/kurokenns/status/1297924884786327554?s=20">here!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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